Siege Tactics (Spells, Swords, & Stealth Book 4)

by Drew Hayes

  “Because we’re both gnomes?” Thistle asked. It wasn’t aggressive or accusatory; the smaller races often congregated when they found one another. Strength in numbers was, for many, the only strength they had.

  “Aye. And also, no. It is because you’re a gnome, but specifically because your friends say you’re a quite learned, well-read gnome who was raised in a gnomish civilization. I’ve got some ancient texts I took with me when I left my hometown for the last time. Even ‘borrowed’ a few from the royal archives. They’re enchanted, so they can’t be read by using simple magic, meaning that I have to find someone who can understand the archaic script. It’s a long shot, I realize, but it’s not like I have other gnomes who come through here often. May as well let you take a look.”

  Thistle didn’t miss the inflection of the word ‘borrowed,’ nor the subtext surrounding it, but he made no issue of the matter. While stealing was a crime, for all he knew, the king she’d taken them from was evil, or had plotted to use their information to conquer a defenseless neighbor. As a man on the run from a king, Thistle understood that not all laws were just or righteous. Paladins respected the law; they did not serve it. They served only their gods, and it was hard to imagine Grumble taking much umbrage with the theft. Minions often stole from their employers, even if it was usually only food or water for the sake of survival.

  “I’ll do my best, although I should warn you that my years with other gnomes were quite long ago.”

  Jolia hopped down from her stool, her staff loudly clomping as it struck the wooden floor. “As I already said, I know it’s a long shot. Still worth taking, unless you’ve got another job you’d like to do.”

  It was tempting—they’d made a point of deciding not to split up the day before, albeit only with regard to walking around on their own—but this was different. The more villagers they engaged with, the better their odds of learning something useful. “No, I’m quite at home amidst stacks of parchment. I only wanted to make sure I was setting reasonable expectations.”

  “Nothing to fret about there,” Jolia assured him. “We’ve got a firm idea of your capabilities already.”

  Moving more carefully, Thistle climbed down his own stool until he stood next to Jolia. “Be careful about that. This group has a habit of surprising those who think they know what we can do, and I say that knowing they’ve probably shocked me more than anyone else.”

  His warning was met with a gentle laugh. “I hope you’re right. I really do. Notch could use a few surprises, if you ask me. We’re long overdue for an oversized dose of the unexpected.”

  * * *

  A lone horse trotted along the edge of the forest, its rider’s face obscured by the hood of her robes. Overstuffed bags rattled and clanked with every one of the horse’s steps, and a truly keen-eyed observer might have noticed that the tracks it left were far too numerous for a single horse. The rider scanned the ground ahead of her, waiting for the break in the trees that signaled the hidden trail. When the order first came down, she was sure there had been a misunderstanding. For Kalzidar to coordinate his priests was one thing, but to set upon them such monumental tasks stretched the bounds of credibility. Though the depth of her faith kept her from questioning Kalzidar outright, she knew nonetheless the other gods could be tricksters too. Perhaps this task was the work of one such deity, luring them into the open so that the unseen servants of Kalzidar could be shackled or slain.

  Her doubt had only lasted until she fulfilled the first of her tasks. There, in the sealed temple where she’d met the other four, Kalzidar had offered them proof, along with the power needed to fulfill their objectives. The other four were strong, they had great potential, and they were sent out together to play their part. She, according to Kalzidar in his incarnation as a giant shadow, was different. She was special. Within her lay tremendous potential, a rare gift found seldom in their world.

  The others were amplified, augmented, made more of who they already were. Such a blessing was given to her as well, along with something more. Only she could withstand a greater gift. Only she had been trusted with one of Kalzidar’s greatest treasures. To see him show her such trust was such an honor that she’d wept right there in that cavern. These were not the last of her tears to spill on this journey, as the act of receiving Kalzidar’s enhancement had been torturous beyond comprehension.

  Even now, after taking time to practice as she waited for Kalzidar’s signal to advance, it felt like there was a sun burning in her chest. So much power in his blessing—a small enhancement to help her better guard the treasure. And this was only a fraction of what her great god could command. For no other god would she undertake such a task. No other god could she trust when he told her that she was strong enough. But Kalzidar had seen her talent and personally handed her the mission. For that, she would follow him across all nine hells if he demanded it. In truth, that would have probably been easier than the task she’d been given.

  With a start, she saw the break in the trees. She didn’t go in yet, or even approach it, lest one of the villagers notice. Kalzidar had been clear; there was no underestimating these people. The moment to strike would come when he declared it, and not before. Until then, she would practice and make herself ready. First and foremost, however, she needed to set up the second barrier. Kalzidar could only spare his attention to the job for so long. This was one of the numerous tasks set before her, with a narrow window to complete them in.

  Taking on a village of former adventurers was a task one couldn’t over-prepare for, even if they did have the backing of a god.

  14.

  From what Timuscor could tell, Kieran seemed to be the person who ran Notch. That wasn’t to say he pulled strings or manipulated the desires of others. Rather, he was the one people came to when they needed something, or ran into a problem. Their morning walk had taken them out past the bounds of the town center and onto the estates of other residents. At every door, suspicious eyes fell upon Timuscor, glares that lasted only until they saw him in the company of Kieran. The moment they recognized the swordsman, their expressions softened and both men were invited into the respective home.

  At their first stop, Kieran dropped off scrolls explaining a different method of irrigation that appeared to illuminate an issue the farmer was having with a difficult crop. Timuscor had some trouble picturing this fellow working the field: he was lean and pale, with snake tattoos that quite literally slithered across his skin. The farmer, introduced as Tocur, brewed a fine pot of tea, though, and broke into visible excitement when Kieran produced the new scrolls.

  Their second stop brought them to a large plot of land where Kieran handed off a bag of seeds to a female half-orc who was tending to her garden with an oversized axe. At the third estate, nothing changed hands, but Kieran was able to assure the elven couple who lived there that the town trader had been reached and would be bringing in the specialty feed for their livestock. The fourth—and final—stop of the day saw Kieran tuning a lute for a man that looked like he’d be more at home with a bloody saber.

  All the while, people would smile at Kieran, sometimes stopping for a brief chat, often merely giving a warm wave or calling a kind greeting. Slowly, Timuscor began to understand their world better. Notch was a town unlike any other, in that its citizens had virtually no real concerns. Their wards and respective abilities meant that they had nothing to fear from bandits or monsters, and the hidden nature of their settlement kept the shifting politics of the kingdoms from impacting them. When one added in that money was so ubiquitous it had lost nearly its value, and they had access to enough magic to fulfill all their basic needs for food and shelter, there were precious few problems for the townsfolk to worry over. Their hobbies appeared to be their greatest concern, and Kieran was the man who made sure even that part of their lives continued to run smoothly.

  With the last appointment finished, they began their walk back, Kieran whistling when the wind at their backs grew slack. As they moved, Timuscor
watched his strange guide, remembering what Brock had told him. Had someone this cheery and carefree truly been an assassin in the life that came before?

  “I know what you’re thinking.” Kieran’s words took Timuscor by surprise. Had he been dressed inside his armor, his startled jump would have loudly rattled. “And yes, this place more or less is paradise. Or as close as we’re likely to find this side of death. You can see why we assumed you’d all want to stay; Notch is a town unlike any other out there.”

  “It certainly is unique.” In truth, Timuscor wasn’t sure that this location would be quite as tempting for him and his friends as everyone assumed, even if they didn’t have other matters to attend to. While Notch was indisputably peaceful and serene, part of the reason its residents could enjoy such a setting was because their adventures were behind them. Their goals, their lifelong ambitions, had all been either realized or cast off. This was a town for those at the ends of their journeys, and although Timuscor could see the appeal of winding up somewhere like this eventually, he wasn’t sure it would be quite so enjoyable to those whose life’s work remained incomplete.

  “In truth, I must admit that you were wrong. That’s not what I was thinking about.”

  “Ah, then it’s probably my second guess.” Kieran slowed his walk slightly, making it easier for the pair to talk. “You’re wondering how a man with so much blood on his sword can walk around casually smiling at people without the demons of his past dragging him down.”

  “Not precisely the way I would phrase it, but I can’t deny there is some truth to your words. Brock told you he informed me of your past?”

  That drew a short, sharp laugh from Kieran. “He didn’t. I just assumed. We all grapple with our past at some point, and as the default figurehead of this place, most newcomers eventually ask about mine. Once people hear the word ‘assassin’ that tends to be where their minds get locked up. So, I’ll make you a deal.”

  The walk stopped as Kieran pointed up a nearby hill, toward a mighty tree growing at the top. “We’re going to walk up there and pick some fruit. You have until we reach the tree’s roots to ask me anything you want to know about my past, and then we let it go. I’d be happy to talk with you about coping with the feelings and uncertainties of our shared scattered memories, but I don’t want to keep getting bogged down in my life’s specifics. Everyone here has a fascinating history; you’ll lose sight of what matters if you don’t keep your focus inward. So let’s sate that curiosity while we get a snack.”

  Then they were moving again, albeit still at the slower pace. Timuscor took his time deciding which details he cared to know the most about. There was still some distance to the tree. Depending on how long each answer was, he might not have time for many questions.

  “Why become an assassin?”

  “Same reason as many before me: service and duty. All adventurers are assassins, in a way. We go out to kill the monsters or evil people making life harder for the normal, everyday folks of our world. I was just better at the killing part than any of the other bits, and so, eventually, that was the task most often handed to me. And it was usually the right thing to do. We could put the lives of a dozen others at risk by climbing an evil wizard’s tower, fighting past their traps, losing good people along the way until we finally ended up in a massive battle—or I could slip a knife into that wizard’s throat when they stopped by their favorite supply shop in another town. Either way, we’re killing someone. My method just cost a few less lives.”

  It was hard to dispute Kieran’s point—at least, in that specific scenario. If he was honest with himself, Timuscor knew that adventuring was a killing job. Back in Camnarael, a Grand Quest had been organized specifically for the task of dealing with Rathgan, a dragon who’d become problematic to the kingdom. Adventurers were collected and aimed at the beast like living cannons, and there was no measuring how much blood had been spilled in their assault. Then again, Timuscor was reasonably certain he’d never killed anything that hadn’t been trying to kill him back. In the grand scheme of things, that might not make a difference, but it felt as though it should.

  “Have you killed anyone who didn’t deserve it?”

  This time, the reply wasn’t quite as fast. “I don’t think so. As a fellow echo, you already know how difficult it can be to delve into one’s own memories of the time before we were changed. I’ve done my best, scouring my mind to see if penance or retribution is owed. So far, every kill I can fully recall was warranted to some extent. I can’t swear to that any more than you can, though. But then, that’s true for almost all of us echoes.”

  Timuscor nearly missed a step and went tumbling down onto the soft grass of the hill they’d begun climbing. He’d tried to put that thought out of his head; he dearly wanted to believe that something inside of him would halt such actions. But those other three he’d been traveling with had held no such compunctions. Even if Timuscor gave himself the benefit of every doubt, was he truly certain that the targets that trio had chosen warranted killing?

  “Try not to dwell on it,” Kieran advised. “Not because it doesn’t matter, but because you aren’t going to find the answers you need inside your own head. Our minds and memories cannot be trusted; spend too long in there trying to pull out a memory that doesn’t exist, and you’ll end up creating it. Imagination is a powerful thing, especially when combined with uncertainty and self-doubt. I’ve seen others build their own hells around them with the fears of what they might have done.”

  “I will try my best.” Timuscor wasn’t sure how much success he would have. The further he dug into all of this, the more distressing it seemed, yet he couldn’t turn away. To back down now would be to let the fear of what he’d been before win. Whatever had come before, Timuscor wouldn’t be able to get past it by running away. It wasn’t his nature. Forward and through was the only path that had ever made sense to him. “This next question isn’t specifically about your assassination role, merely about your past in general.”

  “It’s your walk, ask what you like.”

  A glance up the hill showed Timuscor that the tree wasn’t too far off now. Long as the walk had seemed from further back, it was never as hard in the doing as in the expectation. “How did you come upon Notch? If it’s such a secret, I can’t help but wonder how the number of villagers increases.”

  “That’s actually two questions, so I’m going to take them out of order, since that will make the most sense,” Kieran said. “We find new villagers through recruitment, in a way. We’re not completely divorced from the world at large; our trader brings us news as well as supplies. Add in the many mages we have for scrying, and it becomes easy to spot incredibly famous, powerful adventurers whose careers are winding down. Many of them slip into new roles without issue, and those we leave be. The ones who have trouble adjusting, however, we keep an eye on. After this long, we’ve learned to spot a new echo with exceptional precision. Once we’re sure they can adapt to this new life, we offer it to them. Some say yes, others no; we never get specific enough with the ones who turn us down for them to fully understand what this place is. That’s how the town grows.”

  Shade fell across Timuscor’s brow as they reached the top of the hill, the tree’s massive branches blocking out the sun. Golden fruit unlike anything Timuscor had ever seen swung gently in the wind, each looking as though it was a mere moment from falling, yet with not so much as a single one losing its grip. Scanning the ground, Timuscor noted that there were none in the grass. Those fruits were more tenacious than their appearance let on.

  “As for your first question, that’s actually why I was taking you up here. See, I didn’t find Notch, so I can’t properly answer that part. There was no Notch for me to find back then, but I still wanted all this. A place where people like us could be together, safe, split apart from the world that would try to drag us back to bloodshed. If you couldn’t tell by walking around today, I’m something of a fixer by nature. It was my role as an adventurer betwe
en assassinations, and it’s the one I still serve here. When I wanted a place like Notch, I did the same thing I always did when hitting a problem: I fixed it. There was no town for us, so I helped make one. I’m one of Notch’s founders.”

  Based on his appearance, Timuscor would have thought Kieran to be no older than his late-thirties, but for him to be one of the town’s founders, he’d have to be well beyond that. His features betrayed no elven lineage that might be slowing his aging, either. Obviously, that wasn’t the case, but even allowing for a generous amount of leeway, Notch was too sprawling and too well-used to have been built recently. It was several decades old, at minimum.

  “You certainly look youthful for your age.” It was the least confrontational way Timuscor could think of to raise the issue. His gifts had always been more with the physical than the linguistic. Luckily, Kieran met the words with a smile, taking them well.

  “When you gain my level of mastery over channeling mana through your body, controlling your age becomes a handy side effect. Not every member of Notch developed their power through those means, obviously, hence why I brought you up here.”

  Kieran moved, though Timuscor saw nothing more than a blur in his peripheral vision. By the time he’d fully turned, Kieran was at his side, holding two of the golden fruits. “Another benefit to living with experienced adventurers: we’ve accrued our own collections of useful goodies through our travels. This is a tree Jolia brought over from another plane as a sapling. Its fruit is filled with the energy of life, and every bite contains that essence. A single bite will stop you from aging for a week. Eat a whole one, you’ll gain a full year. When I said that Notch was unlike anywhere else, I meant it. Our citizens live as long as they wish. And if you stay, that offer will extend to you, as well.”